Three days after my return, the police still had no leads on my kidnapper. The masked figure had vanished, leaving behind only the abandoned farmhouse and cellar that had become my prison. According to Sheriff Tanner, the property had been vacant for years, making it impossible to trace through ownership records.

I couldn't accept that. Someone had targeted me specifically—had known I was Aiden's mate, had known exactly how to use that against him. This wasn't random.


While Aiden was meeting with the pack council, I slipped into his home office. His laptop was password protected, but after twenty-two years together, I knew all his codes—his mother's birthday followed by the year he became Alpha.

The pack database opened before me, revealing personnel files, territory maps, and incident reports. If my kidnapper was connected to the pack, there would be traces here.

Hours passed as I combed through records, looking for anyone with a grudge against Aiden, anyone who might use me to get to him. The list was longer than I'd expected—Alphas made enemies easily, especially ones as powerful and uncompromising as Aiden.


A name caught my eye: Victor Blackwell. The farmhouse where I'd been held had once belonged to the Blackwell family. According to the file, Victor had challenged Aiden for leadership two years ago and lost badly, suffering injuries that left him scarred and demoted within the pack hierarchy.

The office door opened suddenly. I jumped, slamming the laptop closed.


"What are you doing?" Aiden asked, his expression unreadable.

"Finding answers," I replied, refusing to feel guilty. "Since no one else seems interested in who kidnapped me."

His jaw tightened. "The sheriff is handling it."

"The sheriff doesn't know our world like we do." I reopened the laptop, turning the screen toward him. "Victor Blackwell. He has motive, opportunity, and connection to the location where I was held."

Aiden's face remained impassive, but something flickered in his eyes—recognition, perhaps. Or confirmation.

"You already knew," I realized. "You knew it was him."

"I had suspicions," he admitted.

"And you did nothing?"

"I didn't say that."

I stood, anger rising like a tide. "Then what did you do, Aiden? Because he's still out there. He could come after me again, or someone else in the pack."

"It's being handled," he said, his tone dismissive in a way that made my blood boil.

"Handled? Like you 'handled' my kidnapping? By ignoring it until it was almost too late?"

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "This is pack business, Luna. There are protocols, politics involved."

"This isn't 'pack business,'" I snapped. "This is personal. He targeted me to get to you. He locked me in a cellar and left me to die because of you."

The words hung between us, harsh but true. My kidnapping hadn't been random—it had been the direct result of Aiden's position, his actions, his enemies.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet. "Hunt him down? Kill him? Start a blood feud with his family?"

"I want justice," I said simply. "I want to feel safe again."

"And you think violence will accomplish that?"

I stared at him, incredulous. "Since when are you opposed to violence? You're an Alpha. Your entire position is based on being stronger, more dominant than everyone else."

"There's a difference between strength and unnecessary brutality," he countered. "Victor will be dealt with according to pack law."

"Pack law," I echoed bitterly. "The same law that says an Omega should submit to her Alpha without question? That law?"

Aiden's eyes flashed red—a warning. "You're twisting my words."

"And you're avoiding responsibility," I shot back. "He came after me because of you. Because of your position, your choices. The least you could do is ensure he never threatens me again."

"It's not that simple."

"It is to me." I closed the laptop with finality. "If you won't protect me, I'll protect myself."

As I moved to leave, Aiden caught my arm. "Luna, wait—"

I jerked away from his touch. "Don't. Just... don't."

The look on his face—a mixture of frustration and something deeper, more complex—almost made me pause. But I'd spent too many years making excuses for him, reading meaning into his silences that wasn't there.

This time, his inaction spoke volumes. And what it told me was that even now, even after everything, I wasn't worth fighting for.